


Latch

by minkmix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kid Fic, Not cute, Wee!chesters, get the kleenex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15723834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkmix/pseuds/minkmix
Summary: Sam does something very wrong. Dean pays for it.(thank you Jink/Kir)





	Latch

There was law and there was bending it. That was the dogma of being 10 years old-- learning what you could get away with. At least he assumed that what it was all about. Usually his older brother could be counted on to be on his side. That all changed whenever his brother and dad had a changing of the guard.

Sam couldn't sleep. It was eleven o’clock going fast to midnight and he was wide awake. Fidgety through the John Woo video he'd watched over and over and the horror film previews on pay per view, Sam was starved for distraction.

"Time for bed, Sam." Dean grabbed the remote, clicking off the TV.

"Awwww." Sam's lower lip stuck out. "Not sleepy."

"Get sleepy." Dean said firmly. "Go on and brush your teeth."

Reluctantly, Sam slid off the chair. "But "Blood Suckers III is on?"

"Sammy... not tonight. "Dean rubbed at his eyes.

Sam padded into the bathroom, snatching his worn Snoopy toothbrush in his fist. Stupid Dean. The whole point of Dad being gone all week was to stay up as late as they wanted. Why was he the only smart one around here?

As he stared up at the cracked plaster ceiling, Sam made up his mind. The second he heard the click of Dean's light going out, the place was his.

The dark had a way of making all spaces seem empty and frightening. Not afraid, Sam saw only potential. Sliding a bare foot into the hallway, bent wires clutched tight in his sweaty fist, he moved soundlessly down the hall. Unlike most 10 year olds, one of the first things his father had ever taught him was how to move so no one knew you were there at all.

If there was one truth in Sam's mind it was that no place was more seductive to a child than where adults stored secrets.

The lock on their father's storage closet was not difficult to manipulate. A few times he paused in the silence, cold seeping into his belly at the thought of Dean's shadow behind him. With a tiny gratifying click, the lock dropped into his waiting palm. Sam felt his heart thump as he quietly turned the knob.

He didn't know why all this stuff was locked away half the time anyway. Dad had given Sam his own pistol almost over a year now and no one ever said anything about it when he took it carefully out of its holster and cleaned it just as he had been taught. He wanted to start using the weapons Dean used. Like the shotguns and the knives. He could already read the long lines of Latin and that weird English better than his older brother anyway. Why shouldn't he be allowed to practice with dad's stuff too?

It was all there neatly and haphazardly arrayed in the battered case. Sam let his finger tips linger on the sharp pointed edges of the jagged steel stars, and let his hand settle on the worn leather handle of a curved blade.

There was another wooden box nestled down in the corner of the locker. Curious he pulled it out, a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Dean was still soundly asleep. He flipped it open, the curious smell of soil and the bitter aroma of leaves wafting from its contents. There was a small vial of fluid that he knew well enough to be water blessed by an ordained priest. Beside it was sea salt from a foreign sea that had been or soon would be blessed the same. There was rolled sage and a bottle of rose water. Sam smiled. Not all weapons were dangerous. At least to them. Some were even simple talisman of safety. Or luck. Or health. Protection.

He was about to shut it when something caught his eye. It was a small packet. It was made of folded paper, like the kind he'd seen that contained seeds for garden flowers. The size of a playing card he plucked it from where it lay half hidden amongst his father's arsenal of good luck charms. It was bright blue, like the sky, and it had a picture painted on it of a colorful laughing bird. Sam flipped it over, seeing his father's rushed and garbled handwriting.

It read: the prankster of the forest

Sam's mile deepened, unfolding the paper to see the dried contents inside. A dark brown, like a powder. It smelled like nothing and there wasn't much of it. Laughing a little bit at the pleasant image of the bird he'd decided to see what this prankster was capable of.

 

 

It was almost unbearable to have to sit across from his 14 year old brother and watch and wait for him to finish his food.

Dean spooned up some of the soup he'd made for them both and glared up at him from over his bowl. "I swear to god Sam--"

"I'm eating." Sam toyed with his noodles that floated lukewarm in his bowl.

"No you're not."

"Shut up, yes I am. SEE?" Sam made a show of shoving as much noodle and soup into his mouth at once.

Dean ignored him, reaching into the bag of wonder bread again to make what they had spread out a little longer. Sam slurped at his soup and wondered if they could have something besides soup next week when dad came back. He was sick of waking up hungry and he was really sick of tomato and noodle soup. And wonder bread. He thought it was ok when they had at least peanut butter to put on it but that was long gone.

His bowl was empty. He watched Dean refill it with what was left in the pot.

Sam ate it knowing that Dean could have split it between them but didn't. Dean never seemed as hungry as he was. Sam looked at the neat row of soup cans that had to last them until Monday.

"Why can't we get some more food?" Sam inquired as he picked a noodle off his spoon. "Dad left us money."

Dean sighed. "They don't like kids hanging out here with no parents Sammy."

"So what." Sam had seen enough motel rooms to know that some people didn't seem to mind at all.

"So I had to pay the guy so we'd still be here when Dad gets back." Dean tiredly shoved his bowl back. "Don't worry, when he gets back we're going out to eat."

Sam was hopeful with that. He liked the crowded diners they went to sometimes. He liked reading all the different food on the menus and the gumball machines that always sat by the doors. He looked back at his brother and wondered when the prank powder would start working. He peeked over to make sure Dean had eaten all his food and he had, all the soup was gone, along with the pinch of the powder Sam had sneaked in while Dean hadn't been looking. Sam hoped it'd make him smile again like he used to all the time. Ever since his older brother's last birthday he'd gotten quieter and so serious. The taller Dean got, the stranger he got.

His third bowl of soup gone and Sam felt finally, for the time being, full and sated.

"I'm watching TV." He attempted, looking sideways to see if Dean would say no.

"Nope." Dean cut him off. "We're taking a walk."

Sam scowled. "I don't want--"

"Just put on your coat."

 

 

They were always going on walks like this. Sam walked dejectedly behind his older brother down the cracked sidewalk. Sometimes Sam had to pretend to be lost while Dean stole a new magazine, or some food or even the money out of the cash registers.

Sam had gotten really good at pretending he was crying extra special hard so the adults would all pay extra special attention to him. Sometimes he just had to wait and let his brother know if anyone was coming. Other times Dean just wanted to walk and they never went anywhere at all.

A group of kids Dean's age passed them on the opposite side of the street, laughing and talking about a movie with one another. Sam watched Dean hunch down closer into himself and start walking faster, making Sam, just almost at Dean's shoulder, have to double his pace to keep up.

"Want to go see new comics?" Sam attempted at Dean's back. They had spent 3 hours flipping through comic books the previous day before they were nudged out by the guy paid to mop the floors. Sam knew there wouldn't be any new ones but Dean was being so boring.

"Geeze." Dean growled, rolling up his denim jacket sleeve.

Sam trudged behind him with his hands in his pockets. "What?"

Dean was scratching at his forearms. "Dunno, just itchy is all." He adjusted his jeans, his legs seemingly bothering him as well.

"Is it bugs?"

"No, just be quiet would ya."

Sam suddenly stopped in his tracks. The powder! It had to be! He felt for the blue packet in his jacket pocket and willed himself not to laugh like he wanted to. The sun slanted down, the trees and lampposts slashing black lines across the pavement. He was hungry again and his feet hurt.

"Dean, wanna go home?"

"Fine."

His brother took the turn that would lead them back to the motel.

 

 

Sam had been watching almost 2 hours of cartoons before his brother had even gotten out of bed long enough to take a shower. When he went right back to bed Sam gave up and decided to make his own breakfast. Besides it was a great way to get in the prank dust into the soup.

Sam slowly opened another can of boring soup and messed around with the old hot plate until he got it working long enough so they wouldn't have to eat their morning soup cold. While it heated, he dutifully flipped through his Latin phrase book while he also leafed through two different books his dad said he should know by heart. They were the neat old kind of books because someone had written it all by hand and they had all the words in his Latin dictionary. He often read two or three books at the same time, liking the yellowed smell of the paper. Dean once said that it must be confusing but Sam didn't understand why.

A yawn and a groan behind him and he knew his brother was finally awake and up. Dean leaned down over his shoulder to examine what his younger brother was up to.

"What does uh uh bibere venenum in auro mean?" He asked as he scratched at his chest.

Sam absently put his pencil to his forehead while he flipped another page to his book. "Ummm, 'drink poison from a cup of gold'." He shrugged.

"Why would anyone do that..." Dean grumbled to himself, trying not to sigh at the inevitable sight of soup before him. His eyes had dark circles around them despite all the sleep he'd had.

"Can I go to the park today Dean?" Sam liked that it was right by the small local airport. The park's humble play ground was right beneath the approach path for one of its runways. If you could snag a swing before the other kids you could swing and watch the airplanes zoom right over your head. "You can leave me there like last time, I won't go anywhere else I promise."

"Sure." Dean mumbled, his hand trembling slightly as he ate his food. "Whatever."

Sam watched the soup disappear with a small grin on his face. Man oh man, if he was itchy yesterday, with how much he put in today, Dean was going itch like crazy.

 

 

Dean didn't bring him to the park like he had wanted. Instead they were at some pay phone in the corner of a gas station parking lot. Sam crouched down on the roadside and picked through rocks that had settled in pile by a storm drain.

"Hello?" Dean asked, the black plastic receiver clutched tightly in his pale fist. "I'm-I'm looking for John Tyler... is he there- oh- oh okay...okay... thanks. If he comes around could you tell him... hello? Hello?"

Sam looked back up from scratched fuzzy marble he'd found in the sand when the phone was sharply replaced onto the hook.

"Shit."

Dean shoved his hands down into his jean pockets and looked around until he spotted Sam. His green eyes were glossy and strange.

"Come on."

"Was that dad?"

"Just shut up."

His brother was pale, like when Sam remembered Dean gotten cut with a knife when he had been sharpening it and it slipped into his palm several months back. Dean never wanted to do anything these days besides sulk around. He was always thinking instead of talking like he usually was. Sam pulled the hood of his sweat shirt up over his head and down far enough that all he had to look at was the sidewalks under his sneakers.

He was tired of Dean's weird moods. Being around him for so long was getting to be a drag. Maybe when dad got back he could ask about maybe putting them both into a local school for a little while.

It would be nice to be around other kids.

"Can we go to the park now?" Sam ventured to ask Dean's back.

Dean said nothing.

With a small sigh, Sam followed his brother’s footsteps along the sidewalk knowing better than to ask again.

 

**************************************

 

The days went by one by one, melding into one another until Sam could no longer tell Wednesday from Friday. Time was measured in soup cans and cartoon reruns. They were like kids on a permanent summer vacation without the vacation.

It was definitely Sunday morning when Sam decided that instead of studying like he was supposed to he'd find something better to do. He shut the motel door behind him quietly so he wouldn't wake up Dean and get 20 questions about where he was going. If Dean woke up he already had all sorts of valid excuses, ice machine, soda machine, the empty dry pool that had a pinball machine outside its locked bathrooms...

One of the advantages of being 10 years old was that you could get around fairly easily without a lot of hassle from adults. Sam had learned from watching his older brother for years how it was done. My mom is just in there sir. My dad told me to pick up some milk mam. Oh, I'm sorry, we got lost. That lady over there is my aunt.

All these little phrases made watchful adults, stop watching, and let them go on their way. You had to be careful though, the bad part about being a kid was that people tended to notice you even more if you were wandering alone. He decided that he was never going to eat soup again if he could help it. Standing at the corner he considered the small diner he had walked past with Dean on their nightly sulky treks. Sam wondered why Dean hadn't thought to try this first but he supposed he sort of knew. If the trick worked it was great but if it didn't and you got caught, you got in a lot of trouble.

Sam let his growling stomach decide for him.

 

 

Sam sat happily on the motel floor with two large plastic bags. They were noisy with brown paper bags inside. He pulled them out one by one. He wasn't sure what was inside them but he prayed that it involved melted cheese.

He made enough noise that his brother woke up and rolled over on his bed to look at him.

"What are you doin'?

Sam grinned. "I got us some food."

Dean blinked at the bags. "Huh?"

Sam was extremely proud of himself, revealing his tactics in a breathless rush. "I went and told them I was picking up my food. When they weren't looking I found the order list like you told me. I saw who already paid with a credit card. I said I was them. I said Dad was waiting outside in the car."

Dean groaned and fell back onto the bed. "We have one night left here Sammy. One night."

Sam's smile faded. He thought his older brother would be happy that they didn't have to eat disgusting soup again. Guess not. He felt his fists clench and his jaw grind.

"So?"

"You retard. What if they figured you out? They'd call the fuckin cops Sammy. The cops."

"Shut up. They would not!"

"Do you know what the cops would do to us?!" Dean swayed out of bed, his pale cheeks turning to angry blotches of red. "They'd take us away and dad would never find us!"

"Shut UP!" Sam stood up and yelled back. "I was just tryin to help! Why do you always have to be so...so...." Sam paused, trying to think of the worst thing he could possibly say. "....damn STUPID?"

Sam kicked the bags over and stomped down on them hard. He snatched up his jacket.

"Where are you going--" Dean stepped towards him but wobbled, his knees giving out from under him as he caught his elbow on the edge of the bed. "Shit, Sammy just wait--"

"NO!" Sam grabbed the doorknob, furiously swinging it open and slamming it behind him. It made him happy that the gigantic horrible noise it made caused everyone in the parking lot to look at him. He wanted to laugh that the motel man looked out through the dreary yellowed shades of the front office to see what was going on. Let them call the cops. He hoped every cop in the world would come.

He took off down the street at a full run.

 

 

Sam waited for the roar of the plane's engine before it soared overhead. Normally he awaited these nocturnal rushes with excitement, pretending all sorts of things. The end of the world. An alien spaceship. A Viking battle charge. Sammy loved the sensation of being on the verge. Even if he was so hungry he could cry. But tonight he didn't care. Tonight he felt strange and wrong and confused.

The park was empty and desolate at night, almost creepy. Sam, who was not afraid of many things, felt the queasiness grow in his stomach when he did not see Dean fuming up the dry grass hill. Sam pushed himself one more time on the creaking swing, its rusty chain cold in his hand, leaving a dirty stain.

The flare of his anger faded, he knew it wasn't smart to stay out here much longer. Besides some cop, any car could see him and tell someone that some kid was out here this late at night. Some kid all alone with no one coming around to look for him or care where he was.

Dean must be really mad.

With a dejected sigh, he hopped off the swing and jogged back to the motel, half hoping he would run into his brother already on his way and continue the fight. The motel room's windows were dark. Sam let himself in and locked the door behind him.

Dean hadn't come looking for him, he had just gone to bed. He felt as retarded as Dean said he was for waiting out there like some whiny little kid while Dean had just probably watched TV. He didn't want to turn on the lamp and get laughed at so he left it off. He'd just go to bed in his clothes and hope that by tomorrow--

He tripped over something in the dark and landed hard against one of the wooden chairs that sat by the table before tumbling to the floor. Startled, he rubbed his head where it had smacked against a table leg. Adrenaline sharpened his senses, his temples throbbing. Something was strange. Something wasn't right. Getting up on his knees slowly, he warily stood, putting his hands out in the dark looking for the wall so he could switch on the light. Bumping his knees painfully into the chair again he finally felt it and clicked it on.

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

Dean was laying on the floor, his jean jacket half on and his sneakers on but untied.

"Uh...D-Dean?" Sam's voice was very small.

His brother didn't stir. His face had a sheen of sweat even though the motel room was slightly chilly. This was a joke. Had to be. He told himself. Stupid Dean.

"Dean?" Sam got down and crawled over to him, cold with fear. He touched Dean's shoulder and shook him. "Dean wake up." His older brother's chest was rising and falling slowly. Sam placed his hand over where his heart was and felt the thump of it under his damp T-shirt. He grabbed his brother by the jacket, this time shaking him as hard as he possibly could.

"Uhhhh..." Dean's head bounced on the carpet as Sam shook him. His eyes flickered open.

Sam couldn't catch his breath. "D-Dean are you ok?"

"What-what happened..." He asked, his speech slurred.

The relief at hearing his brother speak made Sam light headed. "I don't-don't know?"

"I-I don't feel so good Sammy. Look, just let me rest for a sec.. and we'll go try calling Dad again..." Dean shut his eyes again and swallowed like it hurt. "Oh man, it burns real bad..."

Burns? Like itchy? Sam felt the blood drain from his face. He sat back and fought the tears that were flooding in his eyes. He hated it when his brother saw him cry. "I coulds go? I could call him, what's the number, I'll go to the phone-"

"No." Dean sighed and grimaced, any movement seemed an agony. "Don't-don't leave this room Sammy. Promise me."

Sam looked at the old plastic motel phone that only reached the front office and chewed at his lower lip. Maybe he should call the motel man Dean had paid.

"And don't call anyone else." Dean mumbled, reading his little brother like a book even now when he was so out of it. "They'll-They'll send me... somewhere...."

The thought of being left alone terrified Sam more than the sight of his older brother on the floor. What if Dad never came back? He always told them that if he didn't to call Pastor Jim but he had never thought Dean wouldn't be right there along side with him. Dean's eyes stayed closed and Sam realized he had drifted off again.

One more day.

Dean was talking and breathing. That was good right? His skin was cold but he was sweating. That usually meant bad. Sam fought to keep himself focused, fought not to cry, not to panic. Cold. He could do something about the cold. Sam scurried to the bed and pulled off all the blankets. He dropped half of them on top of Dean and the other half he bunched up around him. Dean stirred a little when he burrowed under them, curling beneath Dean's right arm.

He stayed awake as long as he could, too scared to sleep and lose track of each labored breath his brother took. Dad would be back tomorrow. Dad would know what to do.

 

 

 

 

Sam thought he heard the door click open in his dream. The sound of his father's groan as he set his equipment down on the table. There was always that smell of engine oil and that burn of recently fired sidearms. Like always. So routine. He waited to hear his father call Dean's name first then his own. But instead he heard nothing.

His eyes blinked open in confusion. He was too warm. He frowned at the dead weight on top of him, Dean's arm slung across his chest. A shadow passed over him and his eyes followed it.

"Dad?" Sam blinked weakly, uncertain.

His father did not look amused.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Then it all came back. He sat up quickly, tossing the weight of his brother's arm off. Dean groaned where he lay but did not open his eyes.

"I'm sorry! Dean he--dunno what happened--I mean, I didn't mean to."

"Ease up Sammy. Slow down."

Sam watched as his father knelt by Dean, ignoring him for the moment. He took Dean's wrist, then took his thumbs to lift Dean's eyelids, studying the dull glaze to his strangely and fully dilated eyes. Under the examination, Dean blinked awake.

"D-Dad...."

"Dean, damn it, have you been in my locker?"

"N-No sir... I dun- I haven't..."

"Don't lie to me Dean."

Sam swallowed as Dean looked up at their father in dazed hurt confusion. Their father studied his face and then suddenly turned his attention to Sam. He stepped backwards and swiftly put his hands behind his back.

"Sam."

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you been in the weapons locker?"

"No, sir." Sam automatically said, the lie as easy as he had given to any other adult expecting an answer out of him.

"Empty your pockets." He ordered.

Sam hesitated.

"Now." He said quietly, terribly.

Sam obeyed.

 

 

 

 

"What did I tell you Dean?"

Sam watched as his father pulled his brother up, using one strong hand to support Dean's chest so he could drape him over the wastebasket at the edge of the bed. He waited until Dean stopped retching before putting him back against the propped up pillows. Sam felt sick just watching him.

"I said, what did I say?"

"Check the-the latch on the locker." His skin was almost white, and he was shivering uncontrollably. His hands shook when he tried to hold the glass his father was pressing to his mouth. But he was the most awake Sam had seen all day since their father had given him something he had stashed in that same wooden box Sam had found all those days ago.

"How often?"

Dean choked on the water, coughing half of it back into the glass. "Every-every day sir."

Sam fidgeted in the doorway, his cheek pressed against the wood frame. He cleared his throat. "Maybe we could go to a doctor--"

"Sam you go on to bed." Their dad said lowly without turning to look at him.

"But Dad--"

"NOW."

He bit his lip and drew back into the shadows of the hallway, unwilling to leave but unwilling to draw his father's ire again. Groaning, Dean weakly made to lean over to vomit again and his father tipped him back over his arm and hand to hold him over the trash can.

"You have any idea how hard that stuff is to find? Let alone the anti-venom. And now it's gone Dean."

Dean coughed and moaned, shuddering. He tried to nod between gags.

"Drink some more water." He ordered.

"Can't-can't do it--" It was almost a whimper.

"Just drink, son." He urged in a softer voice.

Sam backed away into the dark room behind him until his back met the wall. The lit bedroom beyond was filled with the steady stream of his father's low voice. And worse, he could hear the tears, his brother's tears of pain, with an edge to them that Sam knew well enough himself. Frustration and anger. Exhaustion and bafflement. Of having reached some limit of just everything and wanting to just cry until you couldn't cry anymore.

He found his bed and crawled into it, drawing the blankets over his head and curling into a ball and small as he could make himself. It felt like he should cry too.

But for some reason, he just couldn't.


End file.
